A View of New York In the 1950s

(Dylan Thomas, Oct 1914 – Nov 1953) I as one who has never touched the shining Big Apple – as ruthless then as it's ruthless now – gaze at its romantic pictures moving on my TV screen depicting New York's glistening streets of the nineteen fifties, the decade Dylan died there. Screaming lights and busy marquees dance in the sparkling, winking streets; cars hopeful and celebrating the light that is night in a weaving street of what is temporary; but, hell, what a street! – one I would live in, would love in, would die in, but only after I would cry in it, cry my happiness to all who would listen, and think me mad but know in our shared, hand-held joy that one from afar loves the streets of a city he thinks he will never touch.